


Late Night

by tolomer



Category: Metro 2033 - All Media Types, Metro Last Light
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Sweat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 07:23:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1217515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tolomer/pseuds/tolomer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pavel can't sleep-- Artyom won't let him anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Night

**Author's Note:**

> Silly one-shot smut-- I'm home from college for a few days and so I won't be updating жаждущий this weekend; don't worry, there'll be more come next week!

“Night” had fallen over an hour ago, and the pair was still at least a day and a half’s trek from their destination; they’d decided to put down a makeshift campsite. The tunnel was relatively safe— little traffic came through Rimskaya’s southern exit, and that which did, traveled freely and without worry. Pavel and Artyom, even together, could only afford to carry one medium-sized tent, and thus had to share the space. It sat up against the concave wall of Rimskaya’s tunnel, so only three sides were in use, the fourth being hard cobblestone. The two of them had already unpacked two small folding cots and undressed, both down to an undershirt and loose sweatpants. Neither dared completely turn out the lights in the unfamiliar tunnel, and so a weak dying flashlight lay on the ground, between the two. It was completely silent, aside from the faint and sparse creaking of the cots.

“Artyom?” Artyom opened his eyes and glanced over in the darkness at his friend. Pavel had pushed himself up onto his elbows and was looking over, his eyes wider and more awake.

“What is it, Athos,” Artyom tried to joke, “a nightmare?” Pavel squinted in minor irritation at the assumption, but ignored it.

“No I...I just can’t sleep. It’s the uh, the atmosphere, probably.” Artyom looked over at the other, who’d lowered himself back onto the cot and was now staring listlessly at the tent ceiling. Artyom patted his cot to get his attention, and lazily motioned for him to come over. Pavel gladly agreed, and swung his legs over the side of his own bed, lifting himself up and over to Artyom’s. Artyom sat up, throwing his sheets off, and crossing his legs to make room for Pavel, who climbed onto the foot of the cot and sat on his heels. The two stared into eachother for what felt like minutes, before Artyom finally spoke up.

“Tell me about yourself, Pav.” Pavel blinked in confusion for a second or two, unsure of what to say.  
“Uh, what do you...what do you want to know?”

“Well, you’re a communist— from the Red Line. And you have an affinity for women. That’s really all I know about you.” Pavel laughed and covered his eyes in embarrassment.

“Eh eh chuvak, I don’t have any ‘affinity for women,’ bahaha I like a good show!” Artyom ignored the fact that he was ignoring the bulk of the question, and grabbed at straws for what information he could get.

“Well you sure seemed familiar with those showgirls, at Teatr.” He lightly punched Pavel in the shoulder, which elicited another friendly laugh and a punch back.

“Yeah yeah _suka_ , but I always look, never touch.” He winked and waited for Artyom to continue.

“Well, you’ve surely done so before, right? You’re so euh, charismatic. The great Athos, rescuer of Spartans, right?” He laughed at his own joke, and wiped the tears from his eyes, and could barely hear what Pavel had to say, over his own guffaws.

“Okay, okay, yeah I have,” he winked again, “but who hasn’t, eh? I’ve broken-in a few girls in the time, bro.” He looked proud of it— that particularly made Artyom squirm a bit, the treatment of those he’d been with, but at the same time he felt himself blush, and staggered to respond. He had nothing to say, and thus the two fell silent for a time...finally, when the oppressive dull echo of the tunnel became too much to bear without the aid of conversation, Artyom slid down onto his back, letting his bottom come right up to Pavel’s groin. He pulled his comrade in close, wrapping his calves behind him so the two were closely linked. Pavel held a look of shock, but not discomfort.

“Ever... break anyone else in…? Upon request, maybe…?” Artyom barely choked out those last words— it was embarrassing and thrilling all at the same time— but also incredibly risky. He felt hot, and his legs weak. Pavel wasn’t doing anything.

“Artyomka— uh…” Artyom looked up at him from his back; he looked so helpless and vulnerable from there.

“Pavel…” Seemingly on instinct, or at least without his wits about him, Pavel dug his thumbs into Artyom’s hips, and used his fingers to slowly pull away his boxers and sweats. Halfway down his legs, Pavel began to remove his own. It was quiet and tense the entire time— neither spoke as Pavel worked. After a couple of long agonizing minutes, both lay and sat completely removed of their pants. Artyom’s legs placed themselves back around Pavel’s hips, and finally someone broke the silence.

“Artyom have you...done this before? With— with a….I mean—”

“No, Pavel.” He was calm. Pavel took confidence in Artyom’s own, and slowly moved two of his fingers into Artyom’s mouth. Artyom took them in and assumed there was purpose to it; he began to lick and lap at them. Pavel’s fingers were calloused and strong— the hands of a working man. They tasted weakly of leather, from his gloves, and of pot, from earlier. But also skin...they were warm, and Artyom could still taste salt and oil on him. He licked Pavel’s fingers for a minute or so, before Pavel (what felt selfishly, to Artyom) took them out.

“I’m going to go slow with this— one finger first, and eventually two, alright?” He laid out his plan for his partner, hoping he understood. Artyom knew what he meant, and tried to mentally prepare himself for what was coming. Pavel’s hand moved below Artyom’s balls, trailing his own saliva down part of his ass. Artyom tensed up, killing any possibility of Pavel getting inside; the feeling of another person touching him as Pavel was, was incredible but unfamiliar and nerve-wracking. Pavel touched his middle finger to the entrance of Artyom’s ass, and unexpectedly held his head in the other hand. Artyom opened his eyes, feeling Pavel’s warm and firm touch on his cheek.

“Artyomka it’s alright— take a deep breath...do it with me.” Pavel took a long deep breath in through his nose, which Artyom imitated. The two held it for some seconds, before Pavel, followed by Artyom, slowly released. Artyom felt his hips relax, and his chest fall. Pavel smiled and moved his hand from Artyom’s face and back to his hip for support. Incredibly slowly, pushed the first knuckle of his middle finger inside him. Artyom struggled to keep his eyes open— not out of pain, but out of embarrassment and discomfort. Pavel looked right at him, and Artyom felt weak.

“Are you alright, chuvak?” Artyom nodded, eager to keep going; it was so strange, but he trusted Pavel, and even more so...he craved having him inside...Pavel continued, pushing incredibly slowly until he nearly had his second knuckle completely inside. He took a break to watch his partner, to gauge his pain or pleasure, and to decide what to do next. Artyom seemed alright— he’d kept practicing their deep breathing, and so Pavel went on. Pulling his hand up, but not out, he stretched Artyom as far as he could— barely two millimeters, but it was a start. Finally Artyom squealed— and not in pain, but in pleasure. Pavel could barely breathe, worrying he’d hurt him, but a weak wink from Artyom told him it was alright. Pavel pulled out and Artyom quickly closed up against either’s will. He looked up at Pavel, who’d gotten up from the cot and was rummaging through his rucksack.

“I-is everything alright...are we done..?” Artyom was incredibly disappointed— had he disgusted Pavel? Was this too much for him? He fully expected Pavel to pull on a new pair of pants and go to bed, ignoring him, but out from the sack came a square glass bottle. Artyom, now supported on his elbows, cocked his head curiously. Pavel shook the vial back and forth, winking, before sitting back on the cot and once again facing Artyom.

“Olive oil— it’ll slick you up much better than spit.” Artyom shuddered; _slick you up_. No matter what he said, Pavel always sounded convincing, not to mention sensual...Pavel stuck the same two fingers that Artyom had worked into the bottle (they wouldn’t be cooking with it anytime soon anyway) and quickly flipped it upside down and back, coating his fingers in the slick and shiny liquid. Artyom lowered himself back down onto the cot, and waited for Pavel to continue. Suddenly he felt an even greater pressure inside him; with the help of the oil, Pavel had stuck both his forefinger and his middle finger inside him at once— one knuckle only, for safety, but two fingers all the same. Artyom lifted his arms, covering his face to hide his blush and sweat. Pavel sat for some time, slowly turning his fingers clockwise, counterclockwise, and clockwise again, and with each rotation Artyom opened up more and more. Regardless it was his first time, and so no matter how much prep Pavel had done, by the end of their half-hour excursion, Artyom could still barely take two fingers past their second knuckles. Both of them felt hot, and Artyom was sweating profusely. His ass felt sore, but he was determined to finish. Pavel finally pulled his fingers out, and slicked them yet again with more oil.

“D’Artagnan, you’re red and breathing heavily again...do you want we should stop and prepare again some other day?” Artyom felt his stomach cinch for two reasons: 1, the possibility that they would stop, which was terrifying and upsetting— but 2, because...Pavel was opening up the possibility to continuing...he wasn’t disgusted with him, or offput by what he wanted...infact the entire time, Pavel had been so courteous and aware of Artyom’s needs...he thought he may cry. Artyom wiped his forehead and his eyes with his (also sweaty) forearm, before wheezing out:

“No...no Pavel, I’m alright…” Pavel smiled and sighed, and opened the bottle yet again.

“P-pavel I...I want you in me…” Pavel didn’t want to show it, but he began to fumble with the cap— _Artyomka you’re so embarrassing...it’s so sweet_. Pavel looked down at himself, and drizzled the nutty oil onto his dick, rubbing it in and slicking himself well over. He breathed out and closed his eyes when he hand ran over his head. Unbeknownst to him, Artyom enjoyed the show— watching Pavel jack himself off over him was incredibly satisfying. Pavel finished, the oil dripping off his head, and dug a thumb into Artyom’s hole, pulling to the side as far as he could: a centimeter or so.

“Now...now Artyomka I— I’m a lot bigger than a finger...are you sure about this?” Artyom nodded feverishly, and strained his neck to get a good look at his partner. He hadn’t been lying; Pavel was a thick 5-6 full inches uncut (though his foreskin had been pulled back with his hard-on), the base of which sat fat above his balls. Artyom unceremoniously gulped. Pavel giggled to himself, and placed his head at Artyom’s entrance, moving his thumb to make room. Slowly, and fighting off fervor, Pavel pushed the head of his dick inside. Artyom took a deep breath and arched his back, doing everything in his power not to cinch himself around Pavel and prevent further penetration. Pavel calmly placed a bare, oily, hand under Artyom’s shirt and onto his tummy— the heat and security brought his back down to the bed, and his head back to Earth. Readjusting himself, Pavel pulled Artyom closer at the hip, digging himself another centimeter or two deeper. Pavel took a deep breath— it’d been so long since he had any sort of release, and he was completely pent up and ready to blow. He struggled not to finish right there and then. He was halfway inside, when Artyom coughed out a quiet ‘Stop.’ Pavel immediately ceased and squinted at his partner through the darkness. Artyom smiled and nodded— he didn’t want to stop, but he’d reached his limit. He was proud of himself though; 2 and a half inches of a 5 and a half-inch-thick dick was a feat for anyone, virginal or not. Pavel smiled back— he was really doing this. He’d become so close with Artyom, and….and he was _inside_ him. Pavel pulled out to the base of his head, and wrapped an oily hungry hand around the base of Artyom’s dick. Immediately, Artyom squealed and grabbed Pavel’s wrist, pulling him away and holding his hand. He gently shook his head, signaling he didn’t want to be touched there, and gently placed both of Pavel’s hands down on his chest. Pavel was now leaning over Artyom, supporting himself on his body. He blinked a few times, before looking down between them, and continuing on. He pushed himself back another two inches, and pulled out again. Slowly but surely, he began to move in and out, two inches at a time; both for Artyom’s comfortability and for his safety. Artyom began to breathe more quickly, and with each thrust deeper inside him, he quietly moaned, trying to appear as though he could take it with ease and nonchalance. Pavel bent down closer to Artyom’s face, losing himself somewhat in his thrusts. The two now breathed heavily into eachother’s faces, and Artyom could clearly smell olive oil, sweat, and Pavel’s natural smell. He moved back and forth with each thrust, which came in shallow 5-second intervals. Artyom felt himself building up— Pavel’s thrusting and heat ontop of him pushed him closer and closer to climax, and he could tell from his face that Pavel was just as close.

“A-Artyom I’m— I’m gonna finish inside you, eh?” Artyom just vigorously nodded in agreement, and let himself go. Pavel sped up some, and with his final thrusts went deeper than expected— Artyom cried out at the sudden dull pain and pressure inside him, and nearly immediately came between them, all over their shirts. Pavel followed, and dulling the sharp pain further inside him was a gentle heat. Artyom felt sticky and hot, and pulled Pavel down ontop of him, so the two were in a sweaty embrace. Pavel pulled himself out, dripping cum down Artyom’s thigh, but didn’t have the time or energy to really care about cleanup. Artyom kissed him— and he reciprocated. It was sloppy and hot, but neither cared much, after the mess they just made. This time, he was sure this was the right thing to do— this wasn’t just lust, or the need for release...Artyom was his...and he his partner’s…

“Pavel— Pavel... _Ya tebya lyublyu_ …” Artyom kissed Pavel again, breathing in every scent through his nose. Pavel pulled himself away, and brushed Artyom’s bangs out of his eyes, kissing his forehead.

“ _Ya tebya lyublyu takzhe_ , Artyom...”

 

 


End file.
